


2-1 Alpha

by military_bluebells



Series: Sergeant Fick [3]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe, Fluff and Angst, Multi, POV Outsider, Set in canon, instead of an officer, where Nate is a grunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:21:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24453574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/military_bluebells/pseuds/military_bluebells
Summary: Six times Reporter saw part of 2-1 Alpha, and the time he saw all of it.
Relationships: Brad Colbert/Nate Fick, Brad Colbert/Nate Fick/Walt Hasser/Ray Person, Brad Colbert/Ray Person, Brad Colbert/Walt Hasser, Nate Fick/Ray Person, Nate Fick/Walt Hasser, Walt Hasser/Ray Person
Series: Sergeant Fick [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1761058
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	2-1 Alpha

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Three Songs Ray Sings Questionably Well (And One He Doesn't)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/160112) by [Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion). 



Brad and Ray

Morrel arranges for him to ride with team 2-1 Alpha. He leads Evan to Bravo 2’s tent, where he leaves him to get settled since he has a meeting with the battalion. Evan realises – after he survives the initial ten minutes, mostly due to the fact he used to write for Hustler, which appears to be revered not unlike the Bible or Qur’an – that Morrel threw him into the lion’s den, probably to see if he could survive. 

He ponders it as he sits in his rack and observes the men around him, noting names, nicknames, personal ticks, anything to differentiate between them all. His current theory is that Morrel threw him in the deep end because if he’d stayed, the men would have seen weakness, a reporter too scared – too above – to get in the dirt with them. That would have put him on the outside immediately, if not permanently. Instead, he’s shown that he doesn’t need his hand held and maybe earned a little scrap of respect. 

“So, you’re gonna be riding with us.” A brown-haired man – who looks barely old enough to drink – says as he sits next to him. The name on his t-shirt says Person. 

“Er- yeah, if you’re in 2-1 Alpha.” 

Person laughs, “Yeah homes, I’m the driver. The two pretty blonds over there are Hasser and Fick, you’ll find out which ones which.” He looks over to the ones Person points out. They're both blond, but one has a sharper jawline and longer hair. 

Person jumps up and walks over to Reyes, who seems to be the most physically imposing of all the marines in the tent, though he’s manning his makeshift expresso machine with a certain type of grace. Reyes welcomes him with open arms and offers him a cup of coffee, which Person takes. He watches Reyes reach over and light the stove. Person leans forward, waving his arms with a bright smile when there’s a flash. 

The next second Person is clutching his face and Reyes is hurrying to switch the stove off. First to Person is Doc Bryan, who’d been sitting not far away. After that Evan isn’t sure, because marines swarm the area. There’s a hush as Espera and Patrick guide the marines back and Doc examines Person’s face. 

“You’re all a bunch of fucking idiots.” Doc says, as he presses a wet towel to Person’s face. 

“How bad is it?” Fick asks – Evan can see the name on his uniform from this angle. 

Doc looks grim and Evan fears the worst. Facial injuries can be complex and if he’s damaged his eyes… 

“Chill yourself Rolling Stone.” Espera says, “Person may _look_ like a pathetic little white boy, but he can be pretty hard sometimes.” He doesn’t really know what that means but he assumes it’s supposed to reassure him, so he nods. “Someone’s gonna have to tell the Iceman though, which means we’re all fucked.” 

“I’ll do it brother; it was my fault.” Reyes says, face mournful. Espera nods and Reyes walks out of the tent purposefully. 

“Alright motherfuckers, I want ya’ll sitting nice and pretty: if the Iceman don’t think we care, he’ll make sure to rip us all new assholes.” The other marines seem to know what he means, since they all shuffle to sit around where Doc and Person are, in a quiet and orderly fashion. 

Fick and Hasser bracket Person, Hasser sitting just behind him and Fick to his side, their faces serious. Evan stays standing, not sure what he should do. He settles on keeping in the background and swallowing all his questions. If trained marines are worried about Colbert’s reaction, he should probably be very worried. 

They wait in quiet, the only sound hushed voices which quickly silence as Colbert ducks through the opening in the tent. 

“Gentleman,” he drawls before coming to a stop. His face changes as he sees Person, from open to closed off and _cold_. 

“The stove underneath Rudy’s expresso maker went off like a forty mike-mike.” Hasser says. Evan has to give it to him, he wouldn’t have courage to said anything to Colbert with his current expression, that looks very murderous. Evan’s eyes flick to Reyes’s face, which is pointed at the floor with regret. 

“Roasted white boy’s face like a rotisserie chicken.” Espera says seriously, like he’s giving a proper assessment. 

“Let me understand this,” Colbert says, voice void of emotion, but his face a controlled storm, “my RTO has been burned, in this tent, by an exploding portable stove, and without my RTO I will be going to war unable to quickly and effectively establish radio communications within our unit, with other elements of the battalion, and with close air support. Is this what is happening?” It isn’t so much of a question at the end as a statement; Evan waits to see how this is going to go. 

Espera bites the bullet and says, “That and they’re probably gonna NJP all our asses for operating a stove against regs.” 

“Over an expresso maker.” Colbert says, with a sort of disbelief in his face and voice, “This platoon is going down… over an expresso maker.” 

Fick stands after a couple of seconds and inclines his head. This seems to be a signal as everyone disperses, quickly returning to where they were before. 

Fick and Hasser hover for a second before Colbert shakes his head and they move away. He watches Colbert kneel in front of Person, cupping the uninjured side of his face with something akin to gentleness. It feels private – Evan glances around himself and sees no one looking their way, not even Fick or Hasser – so he continues watching as discretely as he can. 

Colbert guides Person’s hand away from his face and regards it with a critical eye. Person stays perfectly still – for the first time since Morrel left – and almost relaxes into Colbert’s hand. 

“How do I look Sergeant? Am I still pretty?” Person says with more amusement than Evan thought he’d have considering. 

“Slightly more deformed than before but you’ll live,” Colbert says, guiding the wet towel back to Person’s face and standing, “Don’t tempt fate Ray, I don’t particularly want to spend my last days in civilisation breaking in some other wet-eared, whiskey tango, shit for brains.” 

“Aww, I love you too Bradley.” Person coos. Colbert’s face shifts but Evan blinks and whatever emotion it was is gone. 

“Reporter,” Colbert says, suddenly looking him straight in the eyes. Evan tries not to flinch or fidget under the heavy gaze, “go join Fick and Hasser, they’ll teach you the basics.” He feels like he’s been caught with his hand inside a cookie jar, so he does exactly as he’s told: Colbert’s giving him a chance to learn. 

\- 

Brad and Nate

They’ve been travelling down this dirt road for almost half an hour by Evan’s watch, since the turning at the bridge. The feeling in the Humvee isn’t tense per se but he can feel the apprehension of their current route. They’d turned at the bridge per Encino Man’s orders, but Ray did – uncheerfully – comment on their commander’s skills with a map. He jots the comment down, even as Nate scolds Ray lightly. 

Encino Man has become a – small – point of conflict between the marines in 2-1 Alpha. At opposite ends of the spectrum are Ray and Nate: Ray willingly comments on the uselessness of both their CO and XO – to great length – whereas Nate stands firm on the fact that they should respect their commanding officers, even if they make decisions they don’t personally agree with as they may be operating on information the team doesn’t have. Brad swings between each side in turn but never too openly and he hasn’t heard Walt say anything. However, he assumes laughing at jokes made at their expense is at least telling. 

“Wo, wo!” Walt chimes from the turret as they suddenly come to a stop. As Brad radios the stop in, Evan leans his head out of the Humvee window to see that the dirt road has abruptly ended in a large field of green grass. Brad steps out of the Humvee and paces over to where the dirt stops, looking out across the field. 

_“Hitman 2-1 Alpha, this is 2-3, what’s going on up there?”_ echoes from the radio but Ray doesn’t answer, just rubs between his eyes _“Hitman 2-1, this is Hitman, interrogative, why have we stopped over?”_ as Encino Man comes on the line, Nate exits the Humvee to join Brad outside Evan’s window. Ray picks up the hook and says, with a hint of sarcasm, “Hitman, this Hitman 2-1, no more road.” 

Brad and Nate seem to be watching Encino Man behind them, then Nate turns to Brad and says, in a rare show of amusement at the expense of their CO, “He’s figuring out we’re lost.” 

Evan bites his lip to contain his chuckle and waits for Colbert’s response. 

“I could have told him that half an hour ago. The whole battalion is two klicks east of us, on the other side of the Graff canal. We are now at the rear of everybody.” He says, with a hint of frustration. Evan slowly notes it down: if he moves too much, they might remember he’s there and mince their words. Not that they do that often. 

“He’s our commander Brad.” Fick replies, back to his position as the only one in the Humvee that appears to have faith in their command. Brad and Nate stare back to where Evan assumes Encino Man is and the radio crackles to life, 

_“Hitman Two, this is Hitman Actual, Hitman Three will be on point, Colbert’s team took a wrong turn at the bridge.”_

Brad’s face contorts, that mixture of calm and fury that he gets when officers fuck up, or when Ray goes to sing a country song, and he presses the button Evan knows is used to call back. He waits, surprised that Brad is going to comment, when Nate shakes his head. 

It’s a small gesture, from someone below Brad in the command chain – Ray had explained it over a MRE pound cake; Brad, Nate, Ray, Walt – but Brad lets go of the call button, still looking pissed off, but obviously reining it in. They maintain eye contact for maybe a second or two more, before Nate breaks off, turning his back on Brad to walk around the Humvee. Brad stays where he is, seething in Encino Man’s direction until he too turns away. 

Evan feels like he’s seen something, something significant, something telling but he can’t quite place it. He’s distracted as they set off again – back the way they came – and he forgets about it until he can’t remember just what he saw. 

\- 

Nate and Walt

They’ve stopped for a short break to reset after the assault through the town. 

Evan still feels a little twitchy as he collects some different points of view of the assault, hand jolting every now and then – making his notes almost illegible – as he jots down Chaffin’s retelling of Manimal taking down the three-storey building. He makes his way back to 2-1 Alpha, where Ray is pissing behind the Humvee and Brad is servicing his M-4 with cool efficiency. Walt is up on the M-19, with a cloth soaked in oil, as Nate hoists himself up to straddle the metal between the end of the Humvee roof and Walt’s turret hole. 

Evan sits on a crate someone has dragged out of a Humvee and takes a couple of deep breaths to see if he can stop the shaking. When that doesn’t work, he looks around himself, where marines are still grinning and waving their hands around, excited to finally get some or, as Q-tip had put it ‘bust his cherry’. 

Morrel is making his way down the line, pausing to speak with each of the teams. Evan likes him, maybe not as much as some of the other marines – Nate for example, who is as well read as you would expect from a Dartmouth graduate, is happy to debate with Evan despite Ray’s comments about college boys and their cock-sucking ways – but he isn’t particularly warm in the way Gunny Wynn seems to be. It’s not a criticism – Evan is mostly thankful that they don’t have Captain America calling the shots – but it’s enough to keep their relationship professional whereas he would, hesitantly, call him and some of the other marines’ friends. Well, the kind of friends you talk in one situation but perhaps not another. 

Brad asks Morrel for some KY when he stops in front of 2-1 Alpha since ‘this lubricant is ineffective at keeping your point victor’s main gun running, sir’ and he just catches Morrel’s response. 

He’s jotting the conversation down as Ray flops onto the floor by his feet, staring up at him like a little kid looking at something strange. “Jesus homes, have you been smoking some Rolling Stone drugs? Your hands are shaking worse than Colbert’s when he’s getting fucked by his Rabbi.” 

“If you want to insult someone for getting fucked by their religious leader you should try Nate, Ray, since Catholic priests are notorious for their _appreciation_ of choirboys.” Ray cackles as Nate raises an eyebrow at Brad, who looks up at him smugly. 

“Gentleman, I think you’ll find those priests are a minority, but I’m assured you were simply raising awareness of the very serious topic of child exploitation by authority figures.” Nate says dryly, though Evan can tell there’s amusement underneath. 

“Of course, Nate. I take such issues very seriously.” Brad chimes as Ray falls onto his back, still cracking up. Nate nods, amusement visible as he throws his other leg over the side of the Humvee to help Walt oil the M-19. 

Nate picks up the half bottle of oil they’ve been using – instead of the superior KY – and chuckles, brushing Walt’s face with a loose fist, where he must have some oil. Walt ducks his head and takes the offered bottle almost shyly. He watches them work together seamlessly, hands overlapping in an almost _intimate_ way, stroking the M-19 with soaked cloths like they’re caressing a girlfriend or a wife or a hooker. He thinks back to some of the porn he’s reviewed, the shots of hands clasped together against a mattress or headboard, and thinks they look quite similar. 

Adrenaline, it’s the adrenaline, Evan thinks as he turns back to his notepad. He’s misinterpreting the look in Walt’s eyes as his fingers brush Nate’s, and the way Nate’s hands seem to take every opportunity to let them. 

\- 

Walt and Ray

The Battalion lost a supply truck, leaving them on one meal a day. Evan tries not to think about it because it leads to him thinking about how empty his stomach feels. He’s a little pathetic, he thinks as they pass another hamlet: most of the people in this country eat this much for weeks if not months on end. It’s wearing on the men a little too, Nate’s lips are pulled tighter and they’ve got to the point where they voluntarily eat the shitty MRE meals out of the bag in the middle, instead of just the snacks. 

He doesn’t know if he prefers the ache in his stomach from hunger to the ache after eating an MRE meal. 

“MRE stands for meal ready to exit, or in Brad’s case, meal refusing to exit,” Ray jokes when he shares this. Evan is almost used to having a little too much information on shitting, pissing and jerking off patterns. 

They stop for a reason Evan doesn’t bother to find out and are told they can eat from their supply of humanitarian rations – hum rats – which are apparently better quality than MRE’s but only by a little. He’s with Poke as they distribute the bright yellow packs, and he puts his down in order to take notes on both Poke’s masturbation theory and his dissection of Pocahontas. He sits then, taking out the pound cake and splitting it with Christopher since he had gotten Charms, which he’s obligated to throw away, despite the lack of food. 

“I preferred Mulan personally,” Nate offers after Poke finishes his spiel about Mexicans. 

Poke snorts, “Dawg, that’s just another example of a botched minority story turned into a musical, just instead of a talking raccoon, it’s a talking dragon, which is worse since dragons don’t even exist.” 

“I don’t think you can call Asians a minority, I mean China has a sixth of the world’s population and that’s just one fucking Asian country.” Ray pitches in from his seat on an upturned crate. 

Poke narrows his eyes, but carries on with his point, “Let’s be real, the shit in Mulan would never have happened, that army motherfucker would have looked down her top and noticed she was a girl from the start, had her gang-raped and dumped somewhere before she dishonoured the whole Chinese army.” 

“But wouldn’t you prefer your daughters to look up to a strong woman who fought for her family and against the ideals of a woman in her society – allowing her to stay true to herself - and didn’t fall for a white man. Also, technically, it’s ambiguous whether she does end up with Shang, since she only invites him to dinner, so you have the added element of female independent separate from a man.” 

Brad is smirking from the driver’s seat and he can see Poke actually consider Nate’s argument which is significant in itself. 

“You know what dawg; I think you might be on to something, for a white boy that wouldn’t know persecution from the definition in his college textbook. I don’t want my girls thinking they need to be hooking up with those wannabe gangsters, getting themselves knocked up before they even leave school.” Poke concedes, though he looks impressed. Obviously, Evan isn’t the only one that enjoys sparring with Nate’s intellect. 

Sensing a break in the conversation, Walt comes to sit next to Ray – who shuffles to allow Walt to share the box, making them pressed together shoulder to knee, though that doesn’t seem to bother either of them – and offers an open hum rat to him. Ray leans closer to hold the packet with Walt as they both use plastic spoons to eat the red and brown mixture inside. 

There isn’t anything specific to the event, he’s sharing his hum rat with Christopher after all, but he looks between Walt and Ray, and there’s a sense of something more to the action for them. They grin at each other, heads closer than you’d expect and Ray offers Walt a wet wipe, though he should probably be the one using it. Walt takes it, and there are several layers to the gesture though Evan doesn’t know what they would be called, if they exist at all. 

\- 

Nate and Ray

They pull to a stop some way away from the bridge. 

Evan can’t focus, he feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin he’s shaking so much. There are bullet holes in his door, but he tries not to look at them: if he does, he thinks he might vomit right then and there. 

“Breathe Reporter, it’s just excess adrenaline. It’s perfectly normal.” Nate says as Brad tells Ray to check the tyres with a distant sounding voice. Evan nods, still gripping his arms as he shakes. 

“Is this what happens to you?” 

“Sometimes,” Nate says with a rye smile, before exiting the Humvee. Evan takes a few more minutes to calm down enough that it’s unlikely anyone will pick up on the shaking. He’s on more stable terms with the men, but he doesn’t want to bring any more attention or hazing on himself. 

When he gets out, he’s drawn to where Pappy is laying on a cas-evac vehicle with Rudy holding vigil by his head. He notes the caring way Rudy slips Pappy’s beanie over his head, the way Pappy cracks a small smile, but he doesn’t approach. He’s been around enough to know that there’s a deep bond between the two of them, deeper than a usual sniper pair, but he doesn’t note it down specifically: it’s not his business to ask or tell. They deserve more respect and tact than the fumbled version Evan would write, trying to explain something he can’t fully understand, anyway. 

He slips away, staying on the edge: it isn’t like after the town ambush, where everyone was more excited about getting some than being pissed at command. It’s only getting worse from what Evan sees and hears, a river of shit hitting Morrel and spraying the men in turn. He sympathises with the lieutenant, he’s in a difficult position, between the rock that is command and the hard place that is his men’s safety and respect, but he still feels the thrumming resentment towards how they’re being treated. 

Recon is a specialist unit and putting them in Humvee platoons, as Colbert would say, is an affront to their warrior spirit. 

He nears their Humvee – that’s growing on him even though the crate of grenades still slams into his shoulders every time they stop – but pauses as he spots Nate and Ray standing opposite each other behind the Humvee. 

“That was reckless Ray,” Nate seethes, anger clearly audible, “you could have been shot, and then what would we have done, in the middle of a firefight? Without a driver, without _you_ , did you really think that would have been a better _fucking_ situation?” 

Ray is uncharacteristically quiet, leaving Nate’s question unanswered, his eyes focused on the floor between Nate’s boots. It’s almost odd, since every time Evan has seen a marine scolded, they keep their eyes forward, so they don’t appear weak. 

Nate sighs heavily, before reaching his hand up to grip the back of Ray’s neck and pull him close, “Don’t do something that _fucking_ stupid again.” he says, voice stern but with an almost pleading quality, face lowering to meet Ray’s eyes. Ray looks up and nods, 

“I won’t do anything stupid _unless_ it’s for your safety.” Ray says seriously, keeping Nate’s eyes for an extra second. The ‘your’ has this inflection that Evan thinks means Ray isn’t just referring to Nate, but he can’t quite be sure. 

Nate’s lips quirk up, “Deal.” Nate’s hand is still on Ray’s neck, and Evan thinks he sees it tighten, before he’s pushing Ray back towards his side of the Humvee. 

“Reporter, how’s the shaking?” Nate asks, his earlier anger dissipating instantly. It almost gives Evan whiplash. 

“Fine… Are you and Ray-” 

“He just needs to be reminded that while he’s very good at making quick decisions, he is not, in fact, expendable.” 

Evan nods along and Nate offers him a small smile before moving back towards his door. He wants to believe Nate, and he does - Ray for all that he can be deliberately dense, gives away his attention to detail and care for his fellow marines often, and it isn’t a stretch to think he lacks some self-preservation – but it doesn’t quite feel like the whole story. 

\- 

Brad and Walt

When the shot had first gone off, Evan had expected the shooter to be Trombley, or one of the other more overzealous marines. He’d stared at the three holes in the windshield, tinted with blood, and realised that it didn’t affect him as much as it should have. He also realised, his mouth agape, that it had been Walt that had fired the shot, and he’d joined Brad – along with everyone else – in looking wide-eyed at him. 

Walt had looked just as shocked himself, having to be guided into the Humvee by a surprisingly gentle Colbert. Evan flashed back to when Brad had cupped Ray’s cheek in the tent at Matilda, and he thinks he shouldn’t have been surprised by it. 

Their Humvee stays isolated later, Brad, Nate and Ray all making sure to be close to Walt while everyone else keeps their distance. Eventually Nate drags Ray off to get checked by Doc Bryan, since his eyes were taking on a rusty red colour and he’d spent most of his time driving away from the roadblock hacking his lungs up despite the tense atmosphere. 

Evan stays where he is, mostly because Nate had given him a look before he left, almost like he was trusting Evan to watch over Brad and Walt. He shakes the thought off, as much as Nate humours him more than most, he doesn’t think the sergeant would trust him with his men like that. He almost wants to liken Nate to the mother, taking one son away so the father – Brad – can talk to the other, but he pushes the thought away in case Fick does that thing where he reads Evan’s mind. 

Walt is silent in a way that his usual quiet isn’t. Brad looks, for the first time, out of his depth and awkward. Evan wants to chuckle, but he remembers all too well the Iceman’s calm fury and keeps the noise, deep, deep in his chest. 

“I’m going to swap you out with Nate, let him get some experience up on the M-19, so I need you to man the SAW.” 

Walt sighs, “I know what you’re doin’ Brad.” 

Brad’s hands twitch, “I don’t know what else to do Walt, what do you need?” 

Evan keeps his face blank, even as he wants to, well he doesn’t know, it just feels like the Iceman admitting he doesn’t know what to do should get some sort of reaction other than Walt sighing again. 

“I just- I’m not a kid, just… let me figure this out, on my own.” Walt says, softly with his head down. 

Brad just nods, looking lost, “Okay.” It looks like Brad’s going to add more, and he opens his mouth to, but he stops himself and nods again. He stands up from leaning against Ray’s door, raises his hand, hesitates, and then presses an open palm to the back of Walt’s head. Walt doesn’t stop him - doesn’t lean into him either – and Brad drops his hand, still looking unsure. 

The moment is broken by a loud curse coming from Poke by his Humvee as it looks like Garza’s 50-cal has jammed again. Evan looks back at Walt, but he’s gone from where he’d been leaning. 

Later, when Nate returns with a still sick looking Ray, he climbs straight onto the M-19. Evan’s sure they didn’t have time to talk before or after Brad talked to Walt, so he doesn’t know how Nate knows that was Brad’s plan. Ray just bumps Walt’s shoulder as he passes, but doesn’t say anything, not even a joke about looking like a lost puppy, which Evan can imagine. He follows their example and smiles at Walt but doesn’t press with questions or observations as they start on their way again. 

\- 

2-1 Alpha

Evan waits maybe twenty seconds before he realises the man is jerking off on the shitter. He looks back, to make sure, before moving on. He doesn’t need to shit that badly, and he could always come back later. 

He strolls around the cigarette factory – he wasn’t quite ready to try and sleep yet – and thinks about Kocher. He and Redman had been moved to Motor-T, he’d overheard Brad ranting about it to Nate as Ray fiddled with the radio and Walt the M-19, because of something Captain America had done. 

Captain America. Evan isn’t sure what he’ll say about the man. He’s unhinged in a way Evan doesn’t really get. Trombley is easy, he’s eager to impress the seasoned marines and maybe a little ‘psyco’ but ultimately, he’s barely out of high school and has little agency since he’s under both Gunny Wynn’s and Morrel’s control. 

McGraw on the other hand, is a lieutenant and has a lot more power than Evan’s comfortable with. 

He wanders down the stairs and walks towards the gate to the streets when he sees a man run past. He walks closer and flinches as an AK-47 starts firing barely two feet away. He jumps behind the pillar by the gate and watches the bursts of orange, before there’s a pained cry and the sound of smashing glass. He flinches and backs away, hurrying back up the stairs and pass the sentry. 

He goes back towards where Bravo 2 had pulled up earlier, and Q-tip raises his head from where he’s laying beside Hitman 2’s Humvee, Christeson beside him and Trombley propped up against the vehicle in a position that shouldn’t be comfortable, both asleep. 

“Combat jack?” he asks quietly, with amusement. 

“No, I tried to shit. I was looking for a place, I ended up out by the front gate. People started shooting at each other.” Evan says as he walks to his spot, throwing the unused toilet roll back onto his seat. He folds himself onto the floor and props his arm behind his head. “I think I heard an Iraqi get shot right in front of me.” 

There’s a brief silence until Garza says, “It’s too bad. He probably would have liked democracy.” Evan feels like he’s being mock but it isn’t as mean spirited as it had been in Matilda, before he proved that he wasn’t a complete idiot. It does, however, remind Evan that for all he’s built a bond with these men, he isn’t quite one of them. 

He’s just not a recon marine. 

There’s a couple of pings – too close for comfort, but Evan finds he barely cares – and Chaffin’s head, lit by a red light, peaks around the hood of 2-2’s Humvee long enough for him to shout, “Is that all you got?” with a smirk. Q-tip snickers and Evan can see Garza grin and he sighs, settling back. 

He didn’t notice, not until then, the rest of 2-1 Alpha. He looks to his side and tries to contain his shock. 

Brad is propped up facing Evan, on what looks like a shirt laid over a backpack. His eyes are closed, and his chest rises and falls evenly, so he must be asleep. Ray’s head is pillowed on Brad’s chest -sans Kevlar – and has an arm thrown over Brad like he’s a teddy bear, face slack in his sleep. Nate’s head rests on Brad’s shoulder and the hand resting on Brad’s chest is touching Ray’s. 

He looks _truly_ relaxed for the first time. 

Evan can’t see Walt’s face because it’s buried in Ray’s shoulder and he’s sort of draped half on Ray and half on the concrete floor. Brad’s arm has curled around Walt’s shoulder and one of Walt’s legs extend far enough that it’s touching the one Nate’s thrown in between Brad’s. It looks a sort of like a dog pile and sort of like an arranged position. Evan doesn’t know which one sounds more plausible. 

“Cute, ain’t it?” Evan jumps a little as Poke appears by his shoulder. He just looks at him, because he knows Poke isn’t going to stop there, “Them white motherfuckers all tucked up like it’s summer camp.” 

“You’re just jealous.” Ray mumbles, loud enough for them to hear and Brad cracks a grin. Then he opens his eyes to stare at Evan and Poke. 

“Gentleman,” he says, something both soft and dangerous in his eyes, “I would appreciate a thought to my team’s combat effectiveness, which is affected by every minute you spend interrupting our sleep.” 

“Too many big words,” Ray mumbles, and Evan isn’t sure if he was supposed to hear that. Brad scoffs anyway, but quickly stills as Nate hums and twists in his sleep so that his nose is almost pressed against Brad’s neck. 

“Cute.” Poke says again, “but don’t worry Iceman, I won’t disturb your beauty sleep any longer, I hope Person doesn’t pop a boner and all that shit.” 

Brad glares at Poke, who just chuckles, saying as he pauses by Brad’s feet, “I ain’t judging dawg, ain’t like you motherfuckers can get any weirder.” 

“Challenge accepted.” Ray mutters and Evan is sure he’s asleep. Poke snorts and bumps his foot against the sole of Colbert’s boot before walking off in the direction of 2-1 Bravo. Brad rolls his shoulders a little – Nate huffs but doesn’t slip off his shoulder - and Ray grumbles but just buries his face in Brad’s chest a little more. 

He feels like he should have stopped looking by now, but there’s something about the image he’s missing. 

“Go to sleep Rolling Stone, there’ll be plenty for you to take notes on tomorrow.” He doesn’t really know how Brad means that, but he takes the out and shuffles down onto his side. He waits about two minutes or so before he cracks one eye open. 

Brad might be asleep or he might not be, but there, piled under three fully grown marines, he looks almost as at ease as he did in the middle of a firefight, and Evan wonders - unconsciously - as he drifts to sleep, which one he’s had more practise at.

**Author's Note:**

> I stumbled across an astreetsusserenade post about Nate as a grunt a little after I started writing this fic however, I tried to incorporate some of the examples.  
> Post at: https://astreetsussserenade.tumblr.com/post/172047729646/do-you-ever-think-about-what-gk-would-be-like-if


End file.
